


with the whole camp nou above you

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Croatian National Football Team, Dream Sex, El Clásico, Feral!Luka is best Luka, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rakidrić - Freeform, slightly surreal maybe, strange fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: On his way to see Luka after El Clásico, Ivan dreams.*The Camp Nou is silent and still.  If he closes his eyes he can summon the whole game: the screams, the whistles, the fighting with the refs.  The Cant del Barça, which he once told an interviewer he didn’t know, but he does know it, knows every word.  He just didn’t want to have to pronounce Catalan in an interview and get it wrong.  If he closes his eyes he will hear each word, he’ll feel each word set his skin tingling, like an electric shock jolting him and making him move.He keeps his eyes open because he is not alone.
Relationships: Luka Modrić/Ivan Rakitić
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	with the whole camp nou above you

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Ivan!
> 
> And, as this is my 100th fanfic published on AO3...Happy hundredth to me!

Another Clásico over and done.

He’s on his way to another night with Luka. His own trophy to lift, to hold, to hug to his chest and kiss and love. His Luka.

(No need to think about how this might be his last Clásico. He can’t think about it. So he just won’t.)

He only played for what…ten minutes? But his body is so exhausted in the car on the way to the hotel where Luka will be waiting that his eyes are closing on their own.

_*_

_He is sprawled on his back at the Camp Nou. Right there in the middle of the pitch. He guesses it’s after a Clásico, though he’s not sure which one. His body aches all over, coated in a fine layer of sweat drying sticky on his skin. This is how he felt after every game in Russia. But there, it was hot. Here, he can lie on his back with his stomach exposed, the cool, humid air curling around his skin as if to say: You belong here, Ivan. This is your team, your club. Your home._

_The Camp Nou is silent and still. If he closes his eyes he can summon the whole game: the screams, the whistles, the fighting with the refs. The Cant del Barça, which he once told an interviewer he didn’t know, but he does know it, knows every word. He just didn’t want to have to pronounce Catalan in an interview and get it wrong. If he closes his eyes he will hear each word, he’ll feel each word set his skin tingling, like an electric shock jolting him and making him move._

_He keeps his eyes open because he is not alone._

_Luka…he calls out, stretching his arms forward. Come here. Stop making me wait._

_Luka isn’t the kind of person who crawls for anyone. But the Camp Nou is Ivan’s tonight, and Luka crawls toward him._

_It had been a rough game. Luka’s blinding white kit is stained with grass, streaked with dirt. He hasn’t been to the showers yet. His hair is sweaty, frizzing at the top, limp at the ends. He looks hungry and angry and like he’s wishing he’d won._

_Ivan starts to sit up. What do you want, Luka, baby?_

_Luka stops moving, his nails digging into the grass. I want you to stay where you are. Don’t sit up._

_Ivan knows when he’s strategizing. And Ivan sees his nostrils flaring, sees bite-marks on his lower lip. Are you mad that we won, huh?_

_No. Luka’s deep brown eyes meet his stare. He is concentrating. I’m mad that we lost. We didn’t play our best._

_But you were wonderful. And Ivan holds his arms out again._

_I said don’t try to sit up, Ivan. Listen to your captain._

_You wish. This is the Camp Nou. I can do what I want here, right? And he plays with Luka. Teases him. He starts sitting up._

_Luka pounces, head-butting Ivan in the stomach and wrestling him back down to the ground. He kisses Ivan’s bare stomach hot, wet. His bites feel different now that he’s gotten his teeth fixed. They were sharper before, back in their early days with the national team, sloppier, even. But a bite is a bite._

_He moves his mouth down, his breath making Ivan’s skin tingle._ _He rubs his face on the bulge straining in Ivan’s shorts. He kisses it with his mouth open, leaving little damp spots. He talks between kisses. I. And Luka kisses him. Love. And Luka kisses him. You. And Luka kisses him. Volim te. It’s strange for Ivan to hear his first language in his Spanish home, but Luka says it low and deep and it stops being strange at all. Ivan rocks his hips, pressing against Luka’s wet mouth. He’s so hard now. He moans out loud in the Camp Nou. The silence swallows it up._

 _Lukaletme—let me—and Ivan tugs at the frizzy, sweaty strands of hair—I wanna touch you. Lukalukaluka come on_

_Luka doesn’t move. He isn’t even giving him a proper blowjob or handjob or anything. He’s just rubbing his face and mouth all over Ivan’s straining cock. You could call it worshipping, but Ivan knows Luka too well. That’s not what this is. Real lost today, but Luka is claiming his prize anyway._

_He’s giving Ivan what he wants, but doing it his way._

_The game is always Luka’s to control._

_Luka’s teeth scrape over him and even through his shorts and underwear Ivan feels the sting. Luka can be careful with his mouth when he wants to be. But he doesn’t always want to be._

_Fuck, Luka—be careful—_

_Luka mumbles and kisses the spot his teeth have just scraped. He wraps his whole mouth around the shape of Ivan’s cock like he’s hungry and it’s the only thing that can feed him. Like he’s a big cat carrying its dinner in its mouth._

_Are you going to make a mess all over yourself, Ivan? Luka asks, his voice hoarse from panting. Here in your Camp Nou?_

_Uh-uh, Luka. Lukita. You’ll swallow it._

_Luka laughs, a biting hot laugh. Some other night, yes. But tonight...I’m not in the mood._

_Ivan barely has time to think about what this means. Luka jerks Ivan’s waistband down, but only a bit. Just enough for the tip of his cock to stick out. Ivan looks down and sees it: red and swollen and wet. God, his whole body wants Luka. His whole self wants Luka. Every year he wants it more. There under the orange night sky, which looks open and endless when looking up from the pitch, he thinks he would let Luka swallow him whole._

_Luka lowers his mouth again to the tip of Ivan’s cock. His warm tongue flicks over it._

_More, Ivan gasps. More more moremoremore Luka please_

_Luka hums and pants. His hair is a mess and his eyes, peeking through the sweaty strands, are so big and so dark. He rubs his cheek against Ivan’s cock and the feeling of his stubble makes Ivan’s whole body jerk. Somehow Luka is fucking him with his whole body. Somehow Luka can do things like that._

_Luka mouths at his cock again, fast and mumbly, and Ivan flings his arms out to pull on the grass. He grinds against Luka’s face. I’m gonna come, he announces, I’m I’m I’m gonna—_

_Luka—_

_The first splash of warmth on his bare skin almost startles him in the cool air. He comes all over his stomach, gasping for breath he feels he’ll never find again. Luka brushes his hair off his forehead and wipes his chin off with the back of his hand. His eyes are still calculating and planning. He’s hard in his grass-stained shorts. He leans back down to lick Ivan’s stomach clean._

_Luka, Ivan gasps. Let me..._

_In response Luka reaches into his shorts and then his arm’s a blur, his biceps flexing as he jerks himself underneath the white fabric. He doesn’t even let Ivan see his thick, perfect cock. He’s just biting his lip harder and his eyes bug out and he mouths it again, Volim te, and then Ivan, volim te Ivan, and growls and falls forward, the front of his shorts damp like the air._

_Ivan grabs his hair before he finishes and pulls him up for the kind of kiss that crashes teeth._

_The whole Camp Nou is silent above them and Luka is above him, shivering as he catches his breath in Ivan’s arms._

_*_

“I dreamed you blew me on the pitch at the Camp Nou,” Ivan says as he tosses Luka onto their bed for the night. That’s—not really a good description of what had happened in his mind, but what’s he going to say? _You went feral. You were the most beautiful animal. You were the kind of way I love but I’m always embarrassed to ask for, even with you. Also we were literally in the middle of my football pitch, what the fuck?_

Luka snorts. “Is this some fantasy you have?”

“I guess it must be.”

“Well, sorry, but I could never get it up at the Camp Nou. Now at the Bernabéu…maybe.”

“I could never get it up at the Bernabéu.”

“Okay, Ivan. There was definitely something going on in your pants when we hugged in the tunnel, but who am I to say? Maybe it was just some leftover domaćica, or something.”

Ivan sprawls out next to Luka and buries his nose in his soft, clean hair. Luka’s used the same shampoo for years; no scent is more calming. “I could get it up at Rujevica.”

“You could? You _have._ ”

He twirls Luka’s hair around his fingers and Luka cuddles up to him, his nose against Ivan’s chest, his breaths soft and peaceful.

“And so have you,” Ivan points out.

Luka shifts against him, wrapping a slender, strong leg over Ivan’s legs.

“Well, it’s where we belong,” he says.

Ivan thinks he belongs everywhere if Luka’s there with him. That’s the thing about Luka. He even feels comfortable at the Bernabéu, in enemy territory, when he’s staring down Luka on the pitch.

Luka runs his hand under Ivan’s shirt and cups his waist. “Mmmmm,” he says, almost sleepily. “How do you keep your skin so smooth, huh?”

He pulls Ivan in for a kiss. There is need and want in the way his lips are moving.

Ivan thinks about putting his lips on Luka’s under the wide Barcelona sky and the glare of the Camp Nou lights, and then he stops thinking.


End file.
